


The Samovar

by urielsgate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Other, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27261229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urielsgate/pseuds/urielsgate
Summary: Otabek Altin, Nikolai Plisetsky, an old samovar, a snow-drenched and profanities-spitting Yuri Plisetsky and an unexpected act of true recognition.
Relationships: Otabek Altin & Nikolai Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: Otayuri Week 2020





	The Samovar

**Author's Note:**

> Third short story for the otayuriweek2020
> 
> Day 3, Prompt: Family
> 
> Dear reader, if you require any clarification on the Russian terminology, please do not hesitate to point it out and I shall be more than happy to delve on the subject!

_ The Samovar _

There is something in the way Nikolai Ivanovich Plisetsky runs his thumb over each pinecone that he never fails to find almost hypnotic. As always, Otabek follows each phase of what is clearly performed as methodical sacrament rather than some mere brewing procedure and, as he twists pieces of newspaper, he allows his mind to return to that late afternoon when, for the very first time of many to come, he’d been initiated to the most revered, if not in fact the one and only tradition of the Plisetsky household.

A long sequence of events has unfolded since that long gone winter of many years before, some of them brought him unimaginable joy, while others nearly broke his heart. And yet nothing substantial has ever truly changed. Not in this corner of the world at least, not under the roof of Nikolai Ivanovich Plisetsky’s beloved dacha, where there is always something rich and hearty simmering away on the wood stove, where carefully selected festoons of aromatic wild herbs hang from the low ceiling beams and time stands still. And where Otabek Altin has felt truly at home from the very first time he walked through that old wooden door he now keeps staring at.

-Oi, Kazakh boy, what the hell are you looking at? Pay attention, _blyat_ \- Nikolai Plisetsky is holding up a medium-sized pinecone and he is resolutely waving it right under Otabek’s nose to stress once again the sanctity of the moment as well as the necessity of sticking to higher standards when it comes to this sort of business. –Always go for the really dry ones and I promise you’ll never regret it. Never, I say- he rewards the cherished pinecone with one last noisy kiss and then happily pushes it deep into the central pipe. Otabek doesn't really know if falling in love with twigs and pinecones is one of those crazy Russian customs he’ll never quite fully grasp. What he knows is that, over the years, he’s certainly got into the habit of assisting Nikolai Plisetsky whenever he feels the need to wipe the dust off the old family _samovar_. It’s actually something more meaningful than indulging in Yuri’s grandfather’s sentimentality out of courtesy, he admits while studying the older man’s fingertips tapping all over the table with the excitement of a child. Indeed it is so much more than that.

As the intense scent of tree sap and burning wood fills the air, Otabek knows what comes next. He reaches for the _kryshka_ and quietly waits for the signal. A few more twigs followed by a handful or two of dry birch tree leaves and Nikolai Ivanovich Plisetsky finally crosses both arms in front of his large chest, coughs out a couple of times and then gives a solemn nod. Without any trace of hesitation, Otabek promptly leans forward, checks the alignment (twice) and once the lid is secured to the shining copper body and the sound of the boiling water grows steadier, the two exchange a little smile of genuine appreciation.

-You got pretty good at this, I’ll give you that- The man leans back into the chair and scratches his grey beard. –Anyway, sorry to break it to you but you’re still pretty shit when it comes to cooking-

Otabek tries his best not to laugh and walks towards the cupboard to get the tea box. The thing is he couldn't agree more with Nikolai Plisetsky’s harsh but accurate analysis. Allah be praised, from the very first day they moved into their apartment, he’s been the one in charge of the laundry while Yuri still growls at him whenever Otabek gets too close to whatever is cooking on the kitchen stove.

It’s been snowing for hours and Nikolai Plisetsky catches Otabek checking once again the door first and then his phone with a lingering frown on his way back to the table.

-What the hell are your worried about?- The older man laughs at Otabek’s poor attempts at hiding his mounting apprehension and grabs the tea box from his hand. –He’s no bloody damsel in distress and you know it. Possibly better than anyone else here-

Otabek nods with a slightly embarrassed half smile and all he can do, for the next minute or so, is staring at a stain on the tablecloth. Nikolai Plisetsky is absolutely right of course. Surely Yuri decided to wait for the storm to calm down a little before heading home from the village. Yet it is still Yuri “what the fuck I even fucking care” Plisetsky they are talking about and Otabek can’t help now and then but worry.

It is obviously when the warm sweetness of his second tea cup has somehow succeeded in placating his restless thoughts a little and right when Nikolai Plisetsky has refilled the _pryaniki_ tray that the front door slams wide open and the whole place is flooded with an uproar of snow, ice, wind and a tirade of indeed very familiar profanities.

-Eat shit and die you fucked up fucking snow! Take this and shove it all the way up your frozen dick-drilled ass!-

Otabek blinks and can hardly believe his own eyes as he watches Yuri kicking his boots off and angrily throwing them at the blizzard outside.

-Goddamnit, Yurotchka! Shut that bloody door before you freeze us all to death!- Nikolai Plisetsky yells over the infernal clamor and then, clearly not bothered in the least by his only grandson’s potentially fatal recklessness, grumpily pours more hot water into the teapot.

Yuri hisses out some more abuse at the storm’s expenses, shakes the snow off his clothes, eyelashes and teeth and eventually begins to resemble a human being once again. He slams the door with a loud kick and then marches off towards the small fridge on the other side of the room leaving behind a long trail of wet footprints.

-You and your idea of having fucking _solyanka_ for dinner…- he snorts while fishing out the rather chaotic content of the two plastic bags he’s been carrying all the way from Galina _babushka’s_ small but always well-stocked up store. Galina _babushka_ clearly has no real blood connection with Yuri, but she’s been sliding candies and cookies into his pockets since he was old enough to walk and press his nose up against her shop window. She still loves to do so up to this very day.

-Just leave the beef out on the chopping board- Nikolai Plisetsky ignores the reproach in Yuri’s voice and places a clean cup on the table. –Sit down, drink your tea and shut up. Otabek and I have been working on the _samovar_ for hours so you’d better start showing some respect here-

Yuri opens his mouth all too happy at the prospect of unleashing more blasphemy into the day, but before he can articulate a worthily dirty reply to his grandfather and tell him where he can store his rusty _samovar_ from now on, his gaze crosses the warm depth of Otabek’s eyes.

-Here, take this-

After a moment of hesitation, Yuri accepts the towel Otabek is offering him and in doing so he purposely let the tips of his fingers brush over the skin of Otabek’s palm.

Yuri never says thank you. He doesn’t need to. Otabek knows what that smile, that touch and the intensity of those green eyes truly mean. Besides he’s not used to any public display of affection. Especially not in front of Nikolai Ivanovich Plisetsky. And that is why when he senses the unexpected weight of the older man’s hand resting upon his shoulder and acknowledges the approving benevolence in Yuri’s grandfather’s eyes, for a moment Otabek cannot remember how to breathe anymore.

-I know you’re hopeless, kid- Nikolai Plisetsky shakes his head laughing and pulls Yuri into the embrace. –but I still think we should try teaching you how to prepare a mean _solyanka._ As I’m sure you know all too well, it’s Yurotchka’s favourite soup. What do you say?-

-I… yes, of course… yes…- Otabek searches Yuri’s eyes looking for the right words. And yet he knows there is no need for any explanation other than the complete and unconditional acceptance he’s been granted right now.

-Come on, _dedushka_. Stop messing around- Yuri finishes to rub his hair with the towel, smirks over to his grandfather and then places a kiss upon Otabek’s cheek. –Just tell him. Tell Beka the fucking soup has nothing to do with the real reason you insisted with dragging us here this weekend. Christ, I nearly died out there to give you guys some space to talk!-

Otabek is officially very happy but also very, very confused. –I don’t think I understand, what’s going on here…?-

-Are you going to spit it out or not?!- Yuri waves the wet towel into his grandfather’s face.

Nikolai Plisetsky blabbers something and then, clearly embarrassed, opts for a tactical retreat. He drags his worn-out slippers across the wooden floor and returns to the cup of tea he has left on the table.

-Fine, I’ll tell him!- Yuri slides an arm over Otabek’s shoulders and leans against his side, the way he always does when he needs him to feel just how much he loves him.

-Yuri… What is going on…I really don’t…-

-So, have you learned the difference between young and old pinecones?- Yuri is now leading Otabek across the room. –Remember what happened when you picked those green fir-cones and decided to chuck them into the _samovar_?-

How could Otabek ever forget, his little experiment had drenched the entire _dacha_ , curtains, bed covers and mattresses included, with a thick acrid smoky stench that had lasted for hours, if not days. He nods still feeling like a complete idiot about the whole incident.

-Okay, but now you mastered the art of brewing tea the Russian way, yes?-

-I hope so, yes…-

-Good- They are now standing at the table and Yuri reaches out to grab a _pryaniki_ –See, dedushka is trying to declutter this place, you know, he’s getting rid of a lot of old stuff and…-

-And?-

Yuri takes his sweet time to munch on the last piece of pryaniki and finally turns to look at Otabek. His lips are now dusted all over with fine sugar.

-And he says he’s too tired nowadays to bother using the _samovar_ unless someone helps him out with the bloody thing. So go figure, the thing has to go-

-But he can’t throw it away!- For a moment Otabek forgets that Nikolai Plisetsky is sitting at less than two steps away from where he and Yuri are standing. He stares at the _samovar_ and the memories of all the stories, all the laughter and the inevitable tears that in the years have been shared around it overflow his chest. He cannot possibly conceive the loss of such a precious element of his story with Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuri softly smiles at him. -And he won’t-

-I don’t understand…-

-Hey, Kazakh boy- Nikolai Plisetsky pushes a freshly brewed cup of tea towards Otabek. –Would you like to take care of this old piece of junk for me?-

Otabek tries to swallow down the emotions that are now threatening to choke him up. He clutches the cup but his hand is shaking so badly he decides the tea has to wait for now.

-I’m too old to look after it and even if you still have a long way to go, I’m pretty sure you have some potential- Nikolai Plisetsky smiles and remembers these were the same words his mother spoke to him the day she entrusted the family _samovar_ to his care. -Just ditch the green pinecones, okay? And for all the martyrs’ sake don’t…-

Nikolai Plisetsky never gets to finish his sentence, for Otabek Altin is now hiding his face into his arms and holds him so tight it nearly hurts. It doesn't really though. It feels more like being alive again. And yes, happy. Truly happy.

Yuri shakes his head and tries his best at not making a fucking weak fool of himself. He takes a deep sip of overly sweet and overly strong tea and then rubs his nose over the sleeve of his snow-ruined hoodie.

But he knows, because it’s right in front of him, that he’s got the most beautiful family in the whole fucking world.

~*~


End file.
